"You--I suppose you are not going to bother about a trousseau yet
then?" he asked rather awkwardly.
She shook her head with vehemence. "No, no, of course not. Why should
I hurry? Besides, I am in mourning."
"Exactly as you like," said Grange gently. "My leave will be up in
September, as you know, but I am not bound to stay in the Army. I will
send in my papers if you wish it."
Muriel looked at him in amazement. "Send in your papers! Why no,
Blake! I wouldn't have you do it for the world. I never dreamed of
such a thing."
He smiled good-humouredly. "Well, of course, I should be sorry to
give up polo, but there are plenty of other things I could take to.
Personally, I like a quiet existence."
Was there just a shade of scorn in Muriel's glance as it fell away
from him? It would have been impossible for any bystander to say with
certainty, but there was without doubt a touch of constraint in her
voice as she made reply.
"Yes. You are quite the most placid person I know. But please don't
think of leaving the Army for my sake. I am a soldier's daughter
remember. And--I like soldiers."
Her lip quivered as she turned to enter the house. Her heart at that
moment was mourning over a soldier's unknown grave. But Grange did not
know it, did not even see that she was moved.
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